The Vanishing Glass
“On vacation in Majorca,” snapped Aunt Petunia.
“You could just leave me here,” Harry put in hopefully (he’d be
able to watch what he wanted on television for a change and maybe
even have a go on Dudley’s computer).
Aunt Petunia looked as though she’d just swallowed a lemon.
“And come back and find the house in ruins?” she snarled.
“I won’t blow up the house,” said Harry, but they weren’t listen-
ing.
“I suppose we could take him to the zoo,” said Aunt Petunia
slowly, “. . . and leave him in the car. . . .”
“That cars new, he’s not sitting in it alone. . . .”
Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn’t really crying — it
had been years since he’d really cried — but he knew that if he
screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him any-
thing he wanted.
“Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry, Mummy won’t let him spoil
your special day!” she cried, flinging her arms around him.
“I . . . don’t . . . want . . . him . . . t-t-to come!” Dudley yelled
between huge, pretend sobs. “He always sp-spoils everything!” He
shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mothers arms.
Just then, the doorbell rang — “Oh, good Lord, they’re here!”
said Aunt Petunia frantically — and a moment later, Dudley’s best
friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a
scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held
people’s arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley
stopped pretending to cry at once.
Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn’t believe his luck, was sit-
ting in the back of the Dursleys’ car with Piers and Dudley, on the
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